


30 days: A Game of Lies

by rosefirefire



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosefirefire/pseuds/rosefirefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Participating in the Thirty Day Writing Challenge.</p><p>Sherlock is always looking for distraction, anything to keep him from being bored. So he found a man that is just like a puzzle, how could he not bring him back to his flat? But of course nothing is as straight forward as it should when the God of Mischief is involved. </p><p>Set right after The Avenger and before the Reichenbach Fall. Other characters would be added in as this go on.</p><p>Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> **Hi, this is my first work and first time attempting a 30 days challenges. I will stick with one setting but I will probably add more characters as the month goes on.**

Sherlock curled up in his usual chair, in his thinking position. His grey blue eyes stared intensely at the figure sprawling across the couch. John had already given this mysterious figure the basic patch up to prevent him from bleeding to his death. Highly improbable, Sherlock had said but dear John the doctor of course refused to let someone bleed all over the flat.

It was not every day that Sherlock would pick up a stray from the street, let alone to let it monopolize his thought for an hour. But this particular one is quite unique. Unique in the sense that what he is reading from him should be impossible yet the evidence were there, clear as day. This is something more than a random bloke got beat to unconscious in an alley way. This, is something new. Something interesting. Something… not boring.

Sherlock waited, getting more and more impatience by the second. He had read all he could from the unconscious figure, all stored and analysed. But he needed more. He needed this man to start moving, start talking. He needed to know who this man is. Why is he not waking up, Sherlock frowned and gave the oblivious sleeping man his best glare. He could try to wake him, but last time John caught him and confiscated his gun.

_‘I am not going to shoot him, John. For god sake, I was clearly aiming at the wall.’_

_‘You are not going to scare the poor man out of his mind, Sherlock. Give me the gun.’_

Stupid John. 

Feeling a bit bored now, Sherlock pushed himself up from his chair and interestingly, noticed a change in the man’s breath pattern. Very subtle, but his breathing defiantly quickened up. 

Sherlock smiled, looking very much like a hunting hound that just caught the scent of his prey as he sat back down. “I would get up if I were you.” Sherlock said suddenly. “Not the best position to be resting. It’s going to give you stiff shoulders if you stay like this.”

“Is that so?” The man said smoothly with an accent that Sherlock could not quite placed, which was very telling. “How very kind of you.” 

And with that, the man sat up, the personification of elegancy despite his injury. He had very green eyes and a very charming smile. Too charming. “To whom do I owe this pleasure of company?” He asked as he lean forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Who are you hiding from?” Sherlock ignored his question bluntly. 

“What made you believe that I am hiding from someone?” The man chuckled lightly.

“I know you are.” 

“Quite the confident one, aren’t you?” The man smiled, but his emerald eyes remained cold. “What else do you know about me?” 

Sherlock smirked and was ready to launch into one of his monologue when the man stopped him.

“Do you want to play a game?” His asked. 

“What kind of game?” 

“Provide me with a safe place to stay and each day I will answer four questions.” 

“That's hardly a game.” Sherlock frowned, losing interest fast.

“Patient. I will answer four questions, but three will be lies and only one will be the truth.” 

“And I won’t know which one.”

“It wouldn’t be a game if you knew.”

Sherlock looked into his green eyes and he saw a promise. The beginning of something interesting. 

“I accept.”


	2. Accusation

"So... he is staying."

"Yes."

"For how long?" 

"Until he decides to leave or until I figure out his identity."

"So you don't even have a clue about this man."

"I wouldn't say that. He is obviously…" 

"No. No. No. No. I am not in the mood for one of your ‘I am so clever speech’." John snapped. “Have it ever cross your mind that I might want a say in who gets to stay our flat? This man could be a crazy psychopath, or a wanted criminal or… I don’t know… a bloody alien! And you just agreed to let him stay for god knows how long.” 

"Could be. Could be. Not likely but still possible and yes."

“That’s not the point. I am your flatmate, Sherlock. Don’t you think I deserve a say in this? Of course not. You are Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind of the universe.” John accused. “You can do whatever you felt like it, whenever you felt like it because NO ONE can compete with your massive intellect. Remember the time you just left me at the crime scene… hmm? Or the time I have to go to court because your little friend and his bag of paint… hmm? Or the countless time you just left me standing outside the door not knowing what could be happening to you on the other side?” 

John took a deep breath to compose himself and for once, Sherlock stayed silent. “Sherlock, you are brilliant. You are the most brilliant man I ever known. But sometime, just sometime, you are an idiot. I am your friend and friends protect people. But I can’t unless you let me. So please Sherlock, let me.”

Sherlock looked like he was refraining himself from speaking, which, as far as John was concern, would probably be around the line of _‘Why would I need your protection?’_ or _‘I am fully capable of taking care of myself.’_

“What is his name?” John changed the topic before Sherlock could say anything that would make him want to punch him. 

"Luke."

"Luke?"

"A fake name though."

"How would you know?" 

"Because I ask if that is his real name and he replied yes."

"And that make it fake."

"Obviously." 

"I don't understand."

"Just think." Sherlock waved his hand impatiently. “Four questions. Only one can be true.”

"So... if that was his real name, he had to say no to your second question since he cannot answer two questions truthfully."

"Exactly." 

"But how is that going to help us?" 

Sherlock sighed dramatically, but its effect was ruined by a ring from his phone. 

"A case!" Sherlock exclaimed as he stood up suddenly and marched towards the living room. "Come on, John. We got to get there before those idiot ruin the scene too much." 

John shook his head and followed. Of course everything else would go out a window when Sherlock get a case.

"Do you want to come?" John heard Sherlock asked the guest.

"I am dying to." Luke replied in his smooth voice but made no attempt to follow as John and Sherlock made their way out of the flat.

"Sherlock, Luke ..."

"He is not coming." 

"Wait... Did you just waste a question?"

Sherlock looked quite offended at the question as his waved down a cab, every bit his usual self. "Of course not.”

“Because now, he had to give me the truth."


	3. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki can't fall asleep.

_"Who are you hiding from?"_

_"My brother."_

Loki lied on the couch that he had now claimed as his own, much to Sherlock's annoyance. The clock tick tock away but the god lied wide awake. His arm crossed behind his head as he stared at a spot on the roof, feeling the magic that flow through him, mending his wounds as the time went by, the silent covered him like a blanket. 

And for the first time in days, his mind was not actively planning to take over Midgard, or avoiding capture, or trying to get the upper hand when dealing with Thanos. For once, his mind was free to think. About his new flatmates, about his escape, about tea and others randomness.

However, the foremost thought amounts all was Thor. He had told the detective that it was his brother though Thor and him were only once brother. He did it to irritate the detective, but now all alone in this comfortable darkness, he could admit that part of him wanted that to be true. He could also admit that like Thor, he missed the old days, the days when they travel and battle together as brothers. That oaf certainly had his fill of faults, and his blindness had been one of the reasons why Loki had turned away. But he had been the one of the very few that always welcome him with a hug no matter what mischief he had been up to or what sharp words he had dealt out with his tongue. 

And if he had never found out his true heritage, if he would always be Thor’s brother no matter what, perhaps Loki would be content to stay in shadow, relying on one or two harmless trick to vent his frustration. But he was not. He was born to be a monster. And even if Thor had claimed that it made no difference, how long would it last? How could the beloved prince of Asgard share his love with a frost giant? He should not, and one day Thor would realize that and he would be thrown away.

He would not allow that. He was Loki and he would not mop around and wait for the inevitable to happen. If the end was set, then he shall be the one to choose when and how. If one of them had to be thrown away, then he will throw Thor away before the Thunderer had the chance to throw him away. 

And perhaps he had already succeeded. When on the roof of Stark's tower, when Thor pleaded with him to come back, when he respond by stabbing a dagger into his flesh, perhaps any love that his once brother had felt for him already died. And that thought made his chest tightened with pain even though it was what he wanted. 

Every word Thor said was like a blow to his heart, every word was so crude yet so brutally honest. So Loki had put a dagger in him at his first chance, because if he did not, he might very well in a moment of weakness throw away all he had work for. He would never be Thor’s equal but remain his shadow until that day when Thor's glance no longer filled with brotherly love but disgust reserved for a monster. He would once again fool himself into believing that he belonged.


End file.
